A Hero and an Oracle
by Esther-Channah
Summary: Cass arrives in Gotham during the No Man's Land and quickly finds herself caught up in the tide of events.


For Stickmarionette

Thanks to Debbie for the beta!

Timeline: No Man's Land (before Volume 3)

_"[Every person] is a hero and an oracle to somebody."_

_—Ralph Waldo Emerson_

**A Hero and an Oracle**

She'd been to many places in her short life. Cities that were as bright by night as they were by day, with lights that flashed and blinked, brash and blinding in contrast to the calm steady pinpoints of cold light in the dark sky. Cities that had almost no lights at night except for those found in nature. Open fields, deserts, boats that rocked in rough waters and planes that tossed through turbulent skies. She could think back on all that she had done and all that she had seen; her mind was alert and active, taking in everything it could. She had her memories, her nightmares, her desires for food and shelter and... perhaps... for someone.

She had been lonely for so long, but there was no returning to the man who had raised her now. Not when she knew what he had trained her for. Not when he was proud of her for doing that deed that still woke her at night in a cold sweat, her own heart pounding like that other man's never would again. Her fault. Her shame. Her burden to carry—alone, since she could never share it. Even if she knew how to explain to others what she had done, even if her lips and throat could learn to make the sounds that everyone around her seemed to make with ease, she would not want to risk seeing their eyes widen in horror as they turned from her. Or worse, she would not want to see the same fierce approval in their eyes that she had in the eyes of the man who had raised her.

No, she would never make the sounds that would tell others what she had done. She'd been lying low for a long time, taking what food she needed when backs were turned, sleeping where she could, where nobody would find her to chase her off. Eventually, her wanderings had brought her to this city on the islands with its guarded perimeter and lawless interior.

Getting in had been a challenge. The islands were surrounded by many people dressed alike in clothing whose function was known to her, even if the finer points of the style were unfamiliar. She knew about people who dressed like this. They were trained to do what she had done, but mostly with guns and bombs and knives. She could use those, too, of course, but the man who had raised her had taught her not to rely on tools that could be taken away. People like this usually fought with their bodies only when they ran out of tools.

This city on the islands made her think of other cities that she had passed through before—cities where battles had been fought. People fled... or they died, but often, in their haste to escape, they left useful things behind. Food, blankets, tools... She was afraid to touch the pills and liquids, tubes of cream and vials of ointment. She had no way to know what they would do or when they were safe to take. Bandages and gauze were a different story. She knew that two crossing rectangles on a bag or box meant that such items might be found within. Sometimes, scissors too. The crossing rectangles and the skull and crossing bones were the first two symbols that she had mastered. She had an idea about what the symbol that looked like a fire and the one that looked like the bones of a hand meant, too. There was another one, like a rock with rays coming out of it, that she wasn't quite sure of, but so far, she hadn't had a need to experiment with it. It occurred to her that this might be a good place to find supplies without having to take from others. If the city was empty, then what was left belonged to nobody.

She'd come in under cover of darkness, climbing on the underside of one of the bridges and then swinging across when she hit the gap in the middle. It hadn't taken her long to realize that she'd been wrong. There _were_ people here. Dirty, scared, hungry people, fighting over the scraps that remained. She'd been wrong to come here. It was bad enough to take from those who had plenty, but she couldn't take from those who had nearly nothing.

A scream from a nearby alley startled her and she took off in its direction. Reaching her destination, she took in the situation at a glance: two children, not much older than she'd been when she'd started running, cowered in a corner, holding a cloth bag close to them. The top of the bag revealed potatoes, pale white shoots sprouting from several eyes. Three adults were advancing on the children, brandishing knives. The children were crying, pleading... she couldn't comprehend their words but it was easy to understand what was going on.

It occurred to her that she didn't know the whole story. The potatoes might belong to the adults. The children might be thieves. But she couldn't countenance pulling knives on unarmed children. And from the way these people moved, they weren't about to just take the bag. They meant to attack. They were enjoying the prospect.

Her jaw set. She knew what it was to enjoy a fight. She took a running leap onto a dumpster, flipped, landed between the adults and the children, and settled immediately into a combat stance. Yes, she knew what it was to enjoy a fight. She was going to enjoy this one.

It took less than the space of four heartbeats for her to relieve the attackers of their weapons. It took barely twice that time for their resolve to break. The three turned tail and ran back to the street. She turned to the children, crouching down, holding her hands out before her, empty, fingers pointed toward the ground, hoping that she was telling them that she intended them no ill, not that she wanted anything of theirs.

The elder of the two gave her a nervous smile. She smiled back. The younger said something that ended in a questioning tone. She shook her head, frowning. The child reached into the bag and thrust two potatoes at her. She shook her head once more and pushed them back toward the child. The older one said something, again ending on some sort of inquiry and again she shook her head, trying to indicate that she didn't understand.

The children looked at one another and jabbered back and forth for a moment. Then they rose to their feet. The younger one seized her hand. She tensed, then relaxed, realizing that the boy meant no harm. The child pointed to himself. "Sandro." He pointed toward the elder child. "Luana." He pointed to her.

She shook her head once more. The child persisted. "Sandro. Luana." He pointed to her again.

"T..." She struggled to reproduce the sounds. "Tuh... tah... Tannnnnn-doh? Ooo-aahh-nnnn... nnnn... uh?" She frownd. "Tannndo. Oo-anna." It wasn't exactly right, but the children nodded anyway. Tando pointed to her again. She shook her head. "Tando. Oo-ana." She pointed to herself and shook her head. She knew that they were asking what to call her, but she had no idea how to answer them.

The children looked at each other and spoke quickly, back and forth. They seemed to be arguing and she wondered whether to leave them. Then Tando took her hand and Oo-ana moved to her other side, holding the potatoes to her chest with both hands. Tando tugged and she hesitated only a moment before allowing him to lead her.

They didn't have to walk very far, just far enough to make her wonder how much further they meant to take her. Then Tando pushed open the door of one of the buildings that seemed to be in far better shape than those around it. Inside, they were confronted by a flight of stairs. There was a ramp next to the staircase. Tando said something cheerful and they proceeded up the ramp. At the top, she found another flight of stairs and another ramp. Looking up, she realized that this layout continued all the way up to the top. It was a _very_ tall building...

The higher they got, the slower they walked. Oo-ana, struggling with the potato sack, fell further behind. That wasn't right.

She pulled her hand out of Sando's and extended both arms toward Oo-ana, gesturing that she would carry the bag. Oo-ana hesitated, plainly debating how far she could trust a stranger. Finally, she handed it over and the three proceeded upwards again.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually, they reached the top and Tando pushed open a door to reveal a long corridor. Several yards later, they found another door. Oo-ana knocked.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then there came the sound of several chains and bolts being withdrawn and the door opened on a red-haired woman in a wheelchair. "Sandro! Luana!" she greeted them with pleasure. Her gaze fell on the newcomer. "And...?"

"I don't think she speaks English." Luana replied. "But she helped us against the Loboys."

"You should've seen her," Sandro breathed. "She knocked their knives away like she was Batman or something! She..."

She listened as the children spoke to the woman, trying to understand the exchange. Finally, the woman rolled over to her. "Oracle," she said pointing to herself. "Where are you staying?"

The first bit was probably a name, but she had no way of understanding the question that followed. She shook her head and started to back away.

A hand on her wrist checked her. "Wait." With her free hand, the woman beckoned her inside. On a low table, she began to divide the potatoes into four equal piles. When she was done, Barbara put two piles back in the bag and handed it to Luana. She gestured toward the third pile and then pointed at her other visitor.

The young woman started to shake her head, but her belly betrayed her. It had been too long since she had eaten. She smiled cautiously.

"Wait," the red-haired woman said again. She pointed to a chair. "Sit."

Uncertainly, she lowered herself into the chair and leaned back. Oracle nodded, smiling. She said something to the children and they nodded back and moved toward the door, clutching the half-sack of potatoes. As the door closed behind them, Oracle smiled at her again. She pointed at one of the piles on the table. "Potatoes," she said. Then she pointed at her guest.

"Tatoes?" she said hesitantly. It was good to sit after walking up so many floors. She closed her eyes. "Tatoes," she repeated sleepily.

Oracle nodded. "I guess you haven't eaten for a while. And you look too clean to have been here for long. I wish I had some idea what language you speak; I'd love to know how you got here. But for now, you look like you could use a good meal and a good rest. After that... we'll see."

Her visitor understood none of what she was saying. She knew only that this woman was not an enemy, that she hadn't eaten or slept in nearly a day, that it was safe, and that she was bone-tired. The last thing she heard before she dozed off was Oracle speaking once more.

"I just hope you can tell me what to call you when you wake up..."


End file.
